


Back to Normal

by trash4ficsaboutlurv



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Brotp, Canonical Character Death, Comfort/Angst, F/F, M/M, otp
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-06-23
Updated: 2015-08-24
Packaged: 2018-04-05 18:26:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 5,650
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4190319
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/trash4ficsaboutlurv/pseuds/trash4ficsaboutlurv
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the underground city, Mack feels tainted with alien hoodoo he doesn't understand and fundamentally distrusts. He turns away from everyone, but Fitz is determined to make things go back to normal. (See what I did there? Title drop. Mic drop.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> I literally watched all of Agents of Shield in the last few days and I don't really have strong feelings about most of the characters (I know, shame on me), but FitzMack seemed so obvious from Mack's introduction that I was insulted that it didn't become canon (and also that it isn't a bigger ship in the fandom.) I hate to throw around the word "queerbaiting" since maybe my interpretations are just wildly off, but luckily, in fanfic, I can write things as I see fit. 
> 
> SOOOooooOOO, most things will stay the same, but I'd like to rectify a grievous error on the part of the writers: #FitzMackIsReal

Fitz knew he would find Mack in the garage; ever since the incident in the underground city, the mechanic rarely left the underbelly of the cars and jeeps. Fitz had only seen Mack a handful of times over the last few weeks, and each time, the guy’s shoulder jumped so high with tension, he looked like a marionette at the mercy of a cruel puppeteer. Worse still, when Fitz tried to engage him in conversation, Mack uttered only the necessary syllables for politeness and edged away from Fitz without eye contact. 

Fitz wasn’t used to Mack avoiding anything, least of all him, and he was desperate to say or do whatever words or actions would make everything go back to normal. Back to Xbox games at two in the morning and working in the lab together on whatever new tech the others brought back from field missions. Back to lighthearted banter and Mack knowing the words Fitz needed before Fitz knew them himself. 

But then—it couldn’t really go back to normal. Not with Trip dead and Skye exhibiting some of the scariest blood work Fitz had ever encountered. But maybe that made it all the more imperative that Mack and Fitz get past this. Whatever this was. The silence and tension and evasiveness. 

Fitz had given Mack plenty of time to work through his issues on his own, but Mack was becoming *more* closed off, not less. Bobbi had even taken Fitz aside at breakfast a couple mornings ago to ask if Mack was okay. If Bobbi expressed concern—and to Fitz of all people—something was wrong. And when Fitz had been wrong—no, not wrong, trapped—trapped in his head without a reliable bridge to the outside world, Mack had leapt the chasm and carried Fitz back across with him. Back into the world. And now Fitz was going to return the favor. 

It was midnight and most of the team was asleep. Fitz had given Skye a sedative to keep her tremors from shaking the Bus and creating nasty questions about her doctored bloodwork. Keeping secrets always led to disaster around here, but the way Simmons had talked about Raina made Fitz nervous for Skye. Skye was family and he didn’t care what alien mumbo-jumbo had affected her; he wouldn’t sell her out and have the group quarantine her like a dangerous specimen. No, Fitz couldn’t think about that right now. One problem at a time.

He edged into the garage quietly, lest Mack have warning time to put up his emotional shields. A single light illuminated a corner of the spacious room; most of the cars and equipment hunched in the shadows. Fitz shoved his hands into his sweater pockets and strode toward the light. Under a dented jeep, he saw Mack’s legs sticking out like thick antennae. The denim of his pants was splotched with motor oil and a bright blue, viscous material Fitz recognized as blood from last mission’s super powered antagonist. The woman had bled blue blood and emitted poison from her skin.

“Shouldn’t you be wearing a hazmat suit?” Fitz asked. 

The scraping and tinkering noises under the vehicle abruptly cut off and Mack’s legs stiffened. He pushed himself from under the jeep slowly. Fitz tried not to ogle as Mack’s torso and broad chest slid into view. Mack was wearing a white sleeveless shirt made transparent with sweat in very interesting places. Fitz turned his gaze to the concrete floor until Mack was standing and wiping his face and shoulders with a rag. The mechanic eyes were dark-circled and red—not alien-possession red, just no-sleep red.

“Hazmat,” Fitz repeated, pointing to the blue blood. “She was, she was...” He snapped his finger, the letters almost turning to words into speech. “She was…”

Mack leaned on the tool table and continued wiping the sweat from his arms and chest. “A nightmare? Hard to kill? Poisonous?” 

“Yes. All of that,” Fitz stammered. 

Mack shrugged. “Simmons gave the okay. The toxin oxidizes in the air, loses its effects.”

“Ah,” Fitz nodded. “Still…it could…it could leave impossible st—stains.”

Mack’s studied his thighs for a moment, then shrugged his massive shoulders. “They don’t pay me to look good,” he said.

Fitz smiled, both at the absurdity of Mack’s insinuation that he didn’t look good and at the easiness of their present conversation. Unfortunately, his mind stutter-stopped on a way to continue it. 

The silence stretched and the easiness fell away as quickly as it had come. Fitz stole a look at Mack and the mechanic’s shoulders were high and tense all over again. 

“I—We—Can we play Xbox?” Fitz stuttered. His hand trembled and he clenched it into a fist. Mack noticed, then looked away as if he hadn’t. 

“I don’t know, Turbo, it’s late.” An indecipherable flurry of emotions raced across Mack’s face, before that horrible blankness took over again. “I think I’m calling it a night.”

“You can’t!” Fitz cried, startling both himself and Mack at his volume. “I mean, I can’t—I can’t, um, um, I can’t—”

“Sleep? Eat? Drive?” Mack offered.

“Not be your friend!” Fitz blurted out.

Mack’s shoulders drooped and his mouth sagged. “I can’t be anyone’s friend right now,” he admitted. “I don’t trust myself. I don’t know what happened in the city, but I don’t trust myself anymore.” Mack turned his back to Fitz and dropped his head. 

Fitz approached him cautiously, came to stand next him by the tool table. His voice was small when he said, “I trust you, Mack.”

Mack shook his head. “I almost killed you. I would have killed you if Bobbi hadn’t—” Her slammed his fist on the table and the metallic clang echoed. “I doubted Coulson. Hell, I still do. Alien hoodoo. That’s the kind of thing you don’t want in the leader of SHIELD.” Mack managed to make eye contact with Fitz as he continued. “It’s not the sort of thing you want in anyone you’re in the line of duty with. Who you’re in l—whose your friend.”

Fitz tucked his bottom lip between his teeth and worried over all the words cartwheeling in his head, maddeningly out of reach. The words were too far apart to collect and arrange, too scrambled in Fitz’s head to articulate, but he hoped his eyes were saying it all as he reached for Mack’s hand. Fitz curled his fingers around Mack’s and squeezed gently. Mack's hand was calloused and warm and there was a smudge of grease on the knuckle. Fitz wiped it away with his thumb, continued the motion even after the smudge had disappeared. 

Mack flexed his fingers beneath Fitz’s, then pulled away. He sighed. “I’m sorry, Turbo. I’m…infected. It’s better if I stay away.” He reached out as if to cup Fitz’s shoulder, but then let his arm fall to his side. Fitz stared at where their hands had finally touched, and Mack disappeared into the shadows, out of the garage.


	2. What's Going On?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Skye's tries to make conversation with Mack, Mack puts his foot in his mouth, and Fitz seems to completely lose his mind

A few nights later, Mack was on his way to his bunk when he knocked into Skye. Her eyes widened skittishly and Mack cringed. Everyone saw him differently since the temple. And why shouldn’t they? He was different. He ducked his head in apology and tried to squeeze past her.

“Wait,” she said, her voice hoarse.

Mack paused. “Yeah?” he asked. He took a step away from her so he wouldn’t loom. At his height, he often loomed without meaning to.

Skye rubbed her arms like she was cold. “You still seem a little…shaken,” she said. “About what happened…in the temple.” She paused and waited for Mack to pick up the conversational slack. The silence stretched like a rubber band. “Everyone’s still trying to get over Trip,” she added, then bit her lip.

Her eyes shimmered and Mack felt helpless to comfort her. He knew she blamed herself and he hadn’t exactly been forgiving in the immediate aftermath of Trip’s death. He patted her shoulder awkwardly and then, without quite meaning to, said the least comforting thing he could think of: “I knew we should’ve left the alien stuff alone.” Even as the words escaped his lips, he winced.

Skye drew back from him, anger burning her cheeks a deep pink. Mack also saw fear in her eyes, though. Fear that he was right?

He immediately wanted to apologize; if Fitz were here, he’d already be backpedaling _for_ Mack, just as he had when Mack shouted at Coulson. Mack still had plenty of unresolved feelings where Coulson was concerned, but Fitz had helped defuse the situation. Only Fitz wasn’t here right now and Skye’s glare was incendiary. Mack actually felt his knees knocking. But wait: Since when did Skye intimidate Mack?

It was only when Mack had to grab on to the wall for balance that he realized the earth itself—and not his knees—was moving.

“What’s happening?” he yelled over the din of the plane rocking back and forth. He reached out to pull Skye into the doorway with him—Earthquake Safety 101—but she recoiled.

“I’m not doing anything!” she insisted. Her pupils dilated with fear and she clenched her teeth and fists.

“Skye!” a voice called from behind Mack. He turned to see Fitz running toward them brandishing a…gun? Mack surprise barely flitted across his face, before Fitz aimed the gun at Skye. Mack threw himself in front of her, knocking them both to ground. The Bus swayed even more dramatically and Mack swore he heard critical screws unloosening and important wires coming unplugged.

“What the hell are you doing?” he demanded as Fitz slid to a stop in front of them. Mack scrambled to his feet, grabbed Fitz’s arm, and wrested the gun out of the scientist’s weaker grip.

“I’ll explain everything in a second,” Fitz said. He leapt up to reach the gun that Mack held over his head. Fitz was ludicrously small and barely reached Mack’s chin; his jumping attempts would have been funny if everything else wasn’t so damn confusing.

“Mack,” Skye said. She sounded terrified. “Mack, it’s okay.”

Mack wheeled around to Skye, but the shaking ground threw his balance and he had to reach for the wall again. In the second it took him to regain his footing, Fitz jumped as high as he could and half-scrambled his way up Mack’s torso. He wrenched the gun free, aimed it at Skye’s abdomen, and squeezed the trigger. Skye immediately collapsed.

“Fitz!” Mack yelled, dropping to the ground to cradle Skye’s limp body. “What the hell is going on?”

Fitz held up the weapon and said defensively, “It’s a Night-Night gun.”

Mack rolled his eyes. “That explains nothing!”

Fitz’s cheeks flushed. “Yes, well, I don’t have to tell—to tell you anything. Not like _we’re_ talking to each other much anymore, right.”

Mack gaped. “Do you really want to do this right now?” He lifted Skye’s lolling head. “Does _this_ seem like a good time for that particular conversation?”

Fitz flushed even brighter. He was practically radioactive with embarrassment. Mack didn’t feel entirely composed himself.

“Ah, well…I think it’s best if we—we…” He snapped his fingers and a familiar, squeezing sensation tightened behind Mack’s breastbone. His mouth went dry with longing and regret for the almosts and the if-onlys. But now was hardly the time to indulge those feelings.

“What Fitz? Knock out Mai, next? Run away? Dispose of the body?” Mack’s voice came out gruffer than he meant, but Fitz didn’t notice. He smacked his forehead at Mack’s last suggestion.

“YES! But no. Just—ah, take her to her bunk without anyone seeing.”

But it was already too late for that.

“What’s happened to Skye?” Simmons demanded. Her eyes narrowed accusatorially at Mack and he didn’t have a single, credible explanation to offer.

“The earthquake,” Fitz blurted out. Simmons’s gaze softened when she turned it on Fitz. Mack’s stomach lurched with jealousy. “Skye and Mack ran into each other,” Fitz lied. “I saw the whole thing. Actually quite funny. Skye just--” he clapped his hands together, “—bounced off him like a wall and hit her head.”

“I should check she’s not concussed!” Simmons said. She knelt down to peel back Skye’s eyelid and Fitz threw Mack a “stop-her” look.

“Maybe you oughta do this in the medical bay,” Mack said and abruptly lifted Skye as he got to his feet. “I’m not a gurney.”

Simmons frowned. “I was actually on my way to—” She pointed vaguely in the opposite direction of the lab.

“You don’t have time?” Fitz interrupted. His eyes were manic. “Mack and I will keep an eye on her, won’t we, Mack?”

Mack’s mind could barely keep pace with Fitz, which was an anomaly in their usual dynamic. Their _old_ dynamic, he reminded himself. He couldn’t be that guy for Turbo anymore. “Yeah,” he agreed. “We can sort out Skye. It was my fault anyway. Shouldn’t be so…” he shrugged and Skye’s head slumped forward on her chest. “Big.”

Simmons’s eyes darkened curiously, before she cleared her throat primly. “Well, um, like I said, on my way to—”

“Go, go, go,” Fitz encouraged. He grabbed Simmons’s by the shoulders and steered her away.

Simmons frowned and opened her mouth to speak.

“They _need_ you,” Fitz reminded her.

Mack couldn’t help the pride and amusement he felt watching Fitz lie so poorly and Simmons just as gullibly—or more likely, distractedly—accepting his tales. But those feelings vanished as soon as Simmons was out of earshot and Fitz leaned against the wall.

“That was close,” he sighed.

Mack readjusted Skye’s comatose body in his arms. “ _Fitz_ , _what the hell is going on?”_


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fitz explains; Mack reacts.

“So, Skye’s blood work is as messed up as Raina’s?” Mack summarized after Fitz explained why he shot Skye in the stomach with an Icer. Mack and Fitz were in the medical bay, talking over Skye’s unconscious form.

Fitz nodded and avoided Mack’s gaze. If Mack was mad about Coulson and GH-4, there was no way he would take kindly to Fitz hiding Skye’s condition. As it was, Fitz was oddly torn between defending his actions and wanting Mack’s trust and approval.

Because wasn’t Skye more important than Mack in the hierarchy of Fitz’s friends? He’d known her longer, been through much more with her at his side. And yet, the way he felt about Mack reached past time. They had shared an easy intimacy from almost the first meeting. And it wasn’t just because Mack didn’t know the old Fitz—the person Fitz had only recently stopped calling the _“real”_ Fitz. Hunter and Bobbi hadn’t known him then either and he didn’t have this profound link with either of them. Even now, when Mack had withdrawn from him, the connection thrummed, heedless of their distance or superficial problems.

And it was all so superficial. Mack’s distrust of alien hoodoo could be overcome or at least, pushed aside to make room for new realities. Like the reality that Skye was effectively inhuman, but also still the same goofy, fun-loving, _good_ person she was before. And Mack was still the same person—honest, warm, kind—that _he_ had been before the temple.

“Is she contagious?” Mack asked.

Fitz crossed his arms and shook his head. “No. Maybe. I don’t know. I don’t have a doctorate in human physiology. But from what I can tell…”

“We need to tell Simmons, Fitz.”

Fitz shook his head. “She’d put Skye in quarantine. She thinks it’s a plague.”

“And if it is?”

Fitz bit his lip. “Mack, you have to trust me.”

Mack laughed. “Between trying to trust Coulson and you, I have my work cut out for me.”

Fitz stared down at Skye’s slack face. “Look at her,” he said. “Look at Skye and think about who she is and tell me you think she’s capable of hurting anyone.”

“She caused an earthquake.”

“Yes,” Fitz admitted, “But think what she could do when she has it under control.”

Mack sighed heavily. “ _If_ , Fitz. _If_ she has it under control. And that’s a big ‘if.’ Maybe too big.” He brushed Skye’s hair off her forehead. “She’s a good kid,” he murmured.

Fitz nodded. “She’s my friend, Mack.”

“Maybe that’s why you’re not seeing things clearly.”

A wave of irritation prickled Fitz’s skin. “And you’re such an expert?” he demanded. “On aliens and friendship?”

Mack stepped back.

“Why are you so convinced that it will all end badly?” Fitz demanded. “We’ve done alright with all this for quite some time.”

Mack’s eyes widened in shock. “Alright?” he repeated. “Alright? Because of the secrets this organization has kept, a neo-Nazi terrorist organization grew up like a weed in the garden. Trip is dead! Skye is infected! I almost killed you!”

“Mack…”

“Fitz, we can’t have secrets. We can’t play with things we don’t understand. We can’t—” Mack broke off and turned away. He pressed his hands on the wall and breathed deeply. The sound of it was loud in the quiet room.

Fitz felt his own breathing match the even tempo. He approached Mack cautiously and then without thinking through the consequences, wrapped his arms around the mechanic’s waist and pressed his cheek to the firm expanse of his back. Mack was like a warm, slightly yielding tree—something sturdy and broad, perhaps an oak—and he smelled of rumpled laundry, tire swings, and late mornings. The dense muscles of his torso shifted under his shirt with every breath. Fitz closed his eyes.

Mack had stiffened at first contact, but relaxed almost completely within seconds. And though he hadn’t moved, it felt like he was returning the hug. Fitz and Mack inhaled and exhaled on the same rhythm—in….out….in….out—and it felt like swinging in a hammock or riding a boat in a gentle current.

Fitz wrestled with the next words he wanted to say, the secret that he harbored, had been harboring for too long. If Mack thought they shouldn’t keep secrets then….But being pressed against Mack like this felt too good. Fitz didn’t want to ruin it. The way he’d ruined it with Simmons.

“I should, ah, probably let you go,” he murmured and with considerable effort, dropped his arms to his side. The cool air was a stark contrast to the mechanic’s body heat.

For a moment or two, it seemed like Mack meant to stare at the wall for the rest of the night, but then he slowly turned around and leaned his back against the wall.

Fitz peeked up at him, his cheeks burning with self-consciousness.

Mack’s face was a picture of confusion, but he reached out for Fitz anyway and his embrace was solid and sure. Completely by accident, Fitz’s arms ended up under Mack’s plaid over shirt and the heat of Mack's skin bled through the gray tank top and touched Fitz like a sip of hot chocolate or sunshine in October.

Fitz sighed his contentment and Mack made a concurring sound that rumbled in his chest. For a moment, it didn’t matter about aliens or temple possession or Skye and Coulson or any of it. It didn’t matter that Fitz couldn’t remember all the words he wanted to say or that Mack was letting fear of the unknown steer his choices. None of it mattered here in each other’s arms. And if Fitz could have stopped time at that very moment, he would have.

Mack was the first to pull away. He said he needed to think about some things, that he wouldn’t tell about Skye, but that Fitz should tell Simmons. He was gone much too soon, but not before kissing the top of Fitz’s head and cupping his cheek. They shared one long look that shimmered with all the unsaid things and then Mack disappeared.

Fitz pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes.

“That was heavy,” Skye slurred from the hospital bed. Fitz jumped and whirled around. “I would have told you guys to get a room, but…” She trailed off and a sluggish grin spread across her face. Fitz’s cheeks burned hot as steel left in the sun. He muttered something unintelligibly--even to himself--before dashing to his bunk. 


	4. What Was That?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fitz comes clean to Simmons with a little help from Mack

“I’ll tell her when I tell her!” Fitz said for the dozenth time, sitting on Mack’s work table and fiddling with a blueprint on his tablet. Mack hadn’t stopped pressuring Fitz to talk with Jemma since the other night. Now, they were in the garage working on their respective projects and Mack had practically read a sermon on open communication and accused Fitz of having either a terrible case of scientific arrogance or one of the most biased perspectives of the year to presume to _know_ that Skye wasn’t a threat. Fitz had listened with a growing pressure in his chest and he felt wound up like one of those toy monkeys right before it claps the cymbals together. He hadn’t meant to shout at Mack, had thought the words would come out at a normal volume, but they rushed from his mouth loud and defensive. He couldn’t even appreciate that he hadn’t stuttered or lost any of the words. In a more reasonable tone, he added, “Trust that I know what I’m doing.”

Mack frowned, but didn’t say anything. He slid under the belly of his truck.

Fitz was grateful for the reprieve. He had now successfully put off telling Simmons about Skye’s condition for three days, but he paid for it in needling glares from Mack. Not that Fitz minded all _that_ much. The glares meant Mack was actually looking at him. Sharing this secret had effectively put Mack and Fitz back on speaking terms. It wasn’t X-box games and jokes yet, but it was a start.

Fitz wondered if he was prolonging telling Simmons for reasons other than protecting Skye. Best not to probe too deeply there.

And certainly, Skye wasn’t making it easy for Fitz—and now Mack—to cover for her; she still didn’t have any control over herself and she’d made the bus tremble four times since the Night-Night gun incident. She was also jumpy and clammy with fear of what she’d become. No amount of assurances from Fitz that she was going to be alright would do. Of course, Mack’s grim expressions didn’t help. _He_ was still half-convinced Skye was the harbinger of alien plague. Fitz felt himself being pulled in too many directions at once, his loyalties being drawn and quartered. Skye. Simmons. Mack. Who did he owe the most?

“Fitz!” Simmons called and Fitz raised his head. She waved from the glass doors. “I haven’t seen you in a while. Feels like you’ve been avoiding me.”

Fitz cleared his throat. “Why w-w-would you think that?” he asked.

“Don’t be so serious; I was only teasing.”

Fitz flushed. “Ah, yes, right.”

Mack rolled from under the car and sat up. “Do you guys need to be alone?” he asked, startling Simmons who hadn’t seen him from her vantage point.

“Mack!” she said, “Hi.” Fitz glanced between them. Those two still weren’t comfortable around each other and Fitz had the distinct feeling he was at the center of it. Mack resented Jemma for hurting Fitz and Jemma resented Mack for replacing her. _Had_ Mack replaced Jemma? In more ways than one?

Best not to probe that, either.

“You two can keep at it,” Jemma was saying. “Fitz and I have plenty of time to catch up.”

Mack unfolded to his full height and wiped his hands on his shirt. “No time like the present,” he said. His pointed expression was lost on Fitz, who was very intentionally avoiding ogling Mack’s physique.

On his way out of the garage, Mack squeezed Fitz’s shoulder and without thinking, Fitz cupped his own hand around Mack’s. They exchanged glances of…what…something…something Fitz didn’t have a word for, but he was sure that had less to do with his injury than his inexperience dealing with this sort of thing.

“Maybe you should stay,” Fitz heard himself saying.

Mack shook his head, eyes puzzled.

“Maybe it would be easier for me to—um—to—”

“What, Fitz?” Jemma said. She appeared at Fitz’s other side, so that he was flanked by his two best friends.

He still had his hand over Mack’s and his warmth radiated through Fitz’s cardigan and button down, touched his shoulder and eddied out to the furthest reaches of his nerve endings. He was much too aware of Mack right now.

“To, ah, to, um, talk…about…Skye.”

Jemma’s forehead wrinkled. “Skye? Are you sure?”

“He’s sure,” Mack said. He dropped his hand to Fitz’s elbow and Fitz didn’t know if it was a touch to restrain him and keep him talking or to reassure him and keep him talking.

“Skye’s bloodwork—I—I—ah, I—it’s not right.”

“Fitz, are you okay? Of course, it’s right. We looked at it together. Healthy as a horse.”

Fitz shook his head. “Jemma, listen, I changed the-the—”

“Vial,” Mack offered.

“Yes! I changed the vial. This,” he reached for his tablet and flipped through his files quickly. “This is Skye’s blood.”

Jemma studied the chart for several seconds without expression. Her eyes moved between Fitz’s face and the tablet like a woman being hypnotized. Then her features buckled in horror. “Fitz!” she cried. “Fitz! What have you done?” She grabbed for the tablet. “We have to help her, we have to _fix_ her.”

“She’s not broken!” Fitz shouted, surprising himself again.

Mack tightened his grip on Fitz's arm and then dropped his hand down to hold Fitz’s. It was an easy gesture, as if they held hands all the time. It calmed Fitz.

“Jemma, she has powers and if she can learn to control them—”

“If she _doesn’t_ learn to control them—”

“She could do a lot of good—”

“She could get hurt—”

“We’ll keep her safe—”

“If we eradicate the sickness—”

“She’s our friend!”

“She’s inhuman!”

“Guys!” Mack barked, holding up his free hand for silence. “I’m the first to say we need to do risk assessment of Skye, but she’s been dealing with a lot the last few days and she’s kept it together. Let’s give the girl some credit.”

Fitz wanted to bury himself in Mack’s arms. His relief was almost palpable. Finally, they were on the same side.

“You’re both coming from a place of love,” Mack continued. “I think I’m the only one with an ounce of objectivity and I say, we talk to Skye, we talk to the team, no one tries to figure it out by themselves. Deal?”

Fitz nodded immediately, happy to put Mack in charge. Happy that Mack had finally lost that rigidity of thinking. He waited for Jemma to agree, too, but instead, she shook her head and burst into tears. Before Fitz or Mack could react, she ran from the garage.

“What was that?” Mack asked. His thumb stroked the outer edge of Fitz’s hand.

“I have no idea.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so in love with Fitzmack and I thought I was just writing them into a relationship, but now I actually have a plot? Who would have thought it? Anyhow, Simmons is good, she's just dealing with a lot. Plus, I'm trying to keep her as canon as possible re: her freak out about Skye being Inhuman. Simmons just cares a lot and it manifests as serious over-worrying. Who can't relate to that? Anyhow, the slow burn continues. Who knows? Next week these fools might actually get it together. :)


	5. You Coming or What?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mack realizes what he needs to do.

The next day Mack and Fitz both woke early and met in the kitchen. They had decided the best way to handle the situation was to give Skye the opportunity to tell the team herself. It didn’t sit well with either of them to be a tattle-tale.

Although Skye was under a lot of pressure these days, she still maintained the appetite of a teenage boy on the football team. Right on schedule, she entered the kitchen and descended upon the pancakes Mack and Fitz had cooked to lure her in.

“Hi, guys,” she said with a full mouth. “Thanks for the spread.”

“It’s nothing fancy,” Mack demurred. He walked casually to the sink and began rinsing dishes. He thought it made more sense for Fitz to talk with Skye alone or with Simmons, but Fitz had insisted that Mack be around for this and Simmons was still pretty delicate after last night.

It wasn’t lost on Mack that he was still skittish of Skye and bad about hiding it. The trouble with being an honest man was a sort of pathological inability for Mack to hide his feelings. Which meant it was a very good thing Fitz was so terribly incapable of reading social cues. Mack had been enjoying the last few days far more than he should have. Knowing that, he had overcorrected toward gruffness and nagging Fitz about talking to Simmons.

Sure, he was very concerned for Skye and his insistence that Fitz tell Simmons had come from a sincere place, but stupidly, his brain was far more wrapped up in Fitz. _Fitz needs me!_ _Fitz can’t talk to Simmons without me! Fitz can’t talk to Skye without me. I am a necessary comfort in his crazy life._ And hell, he was willing to admit it: he needed Fitz. To have someone who didn’t either flinch away from him _or_ pointedly ignore what had happened in the temple was…well, it just made Mack’s feelings for Fitz deepen to a richer hue.

He picked up a sponge and began soaping up the batter-smeared mixing bowl. The silence at the table was punctuated only by the scraping of fork tines on a plate. Mack glanced over his shoulder: Fitz was staring at the top of Skye’s head with incredible focus and his cheeks were red. Mack watched him for several seconds, wondering when he’d finally gather his courage into words. The poor guy looked closer to causing himself a stroke than producing intelligible speech.

“So, Skye,” Mack said before he could stop himself. “The tremors…that’s all you?”

The fork tines screeched on the plate and the utensil clattered on the table. Mack turned around and leaned against the counter. He wiped his wet hands on a dish towel. “It’s cool,” he said. “Just figure we should talk about it. Don’t want you to get upset though.”

Skye nodded. “I’m not upset. Just…” she smiled, “don’t know what I am and how to fix it!” Her jolliness had a sharp edge of hysteria.

“There’s nothing to fix,” Fitz said, “you’re not broken.”

Mack smiled. Fitz had been preoccupied with this particular aspect of their current problem: Skye was not broken. It didn’t take a licensed therapist to understand why this had particular resonance with the guy. Mack’s heart clenched to think of Fitz dealing with his aphasia and his trembling hands, and constantly hearing those kinds of words: broken, damaged, can’t be fixed. Mack had made it a point to nip those conversations in the bud when he first befriended Fitz. He didn’t want anyone, especially Fitz, getting the idea that he was trying to be a cure, or doing Fitz some big favor.

As Mack fully confronted the similarities between Fitz and Skye’s situations, he realized all at once that he needed to be for Skye what he had been for Fitz: a friend.

He drifted back over to the table. He grabbed a fork and pulled four pancakes off the stack on to his plate. He poured on the syrup. “When I came out of the temple,” he said, fighting past his desire not to relive the memory, “I was worried, horrified that I’d come out of there changed.” He looked between Fitz and Skye. Both had similar expressions of hungry curiosity and Skye had pushed her plate of unfinished breakfast away to lean forward on her elbows. “I had been out of mind down there, watching myself hurt people I lo—people on my team. And I’ve wondered: how can I know that I won’t ever do that again? That I haven’t been irrevocably changed, my loyalties somehow tied to aliens from a million years ago.” He laughed humorlessly. “We really got ourselves in a strange situation here.’

Fitz and Skye nodded.

“My bloodwork is fine. I don’t have dreams about hurting you guys.” He looked at Fitz. “This guy seems pretty confident I’m not a sleeper rage agent for aliens.”

Fitz nodded solemnly and Skye’s lips curved in a wobbly smile.

“And I trust him,” Mack said. He looked at Fitz again, tried to say with a look all the unsaid things. “I trust him,” he repeated. _One heartbeat, two heartbeats, three._ He turned back to Skye. “And he says you can control this. He says that you’re not dangerous.”

Skye swallowed. “I don’t know what I am,” she said, “but I’m still me.”

Mack nodded. “I believe you.”

“Me, too,” Fitz piped up. He clasped Skye’s shoulder.

“And me!” Simmons shouted from the doorway. She nibbled her bottom lip self-consciously.

Mack and Fitz exchanged surprised looks as Simmons approached.

“Oh, Skye,” she cried, “I’ve been terrible to you!”

Skye frowned, confused.

“Well, not directly, I suppose,” Simmons corrected. “I was hasty in my judgment and well—” Her hazel eyes were glossy with unshed tears. “I don’t care what your file says. You’re Skye to me.”

She threw herself on Skye and pulled her into a tight embrace. Skye’s expression went from startled to thrilled in half a second. “Thank you,” she said into the crook of Simmons’s neck.

Mack and Fitz looked between each other and the girls. Mack pointed to the door and lifted an eyebrow. Fitz nodded emphatically. They made a show of not making any noise, but it was unlikely they would have pulled those two apart with the Jaws of Life.

Safely out of the kitchen, Mack grabbed Fitz’s wrist to stop him. “Is it just me or are those two…more than friends?”

Fitz frowned, started to shake his head, then dropped his jaw. “Huh.”

Mack shook his head and smiled. “Come on, Turbo, let’s play some X-box before everyone wakes up.”

Fitz looked up at him and his smile pulled at Mack’s heart like invisible marionette strings. Mack tugged at his wrist again. “You coming or what?”

  
 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm a little surprised I went with Skimmons, because in the show, I lean slightly more toward Mockingnerd. But Skimmons is good, too and in this version of events, it made sense to me. Mack finally opened up! Simmons is trying to be more open-minded, and Fitz and Mack are playing X-box again...


End file.
